Amaranthine Molecules
by MoonlightOnAconite
Summary: It is extremely rare for Kabuto Yakushi to make a mistake of any kind; the silver-haired medical ninja was always a very precise man both in and out of the laboratory. But now a single unintentional needle prick means Kabuto's life is at risk, and when the illness evolves into something even he cannot explain, and panic begins to rise, he'll do anything to hide it from Orochimaru.


Chapter One

It had been nearly twelve hours since the silver-haired had even emerged from the confines of his cool laboratory. The dozen hours spent without drink, fresh air, or a seat to get off his feet were beginning to catch up with him. Kabuto was exhausted, but he didn't relent in the slightest as his deft fingers glided over all his tools. The sharp kink in his back, however, than reminded him just how long he'd been standing at the lab desk made him pause in his work.

"Ah...," he groaned very softly at the throbbing pain of stiff muscles, one hand pausing against the table as he reached back to press his fingers against the tender skin of his lower back. Jokingly, he thought, he would develop scoliosis at this rate. The idea was met with a faint scoff and a smirk that marked the first expression besides a serious gaze he had mustered up all day.

Almost with a sigh of deafeat, the medical ninja sank back into the metal stool behind him, a soft sigh slipping past his lips at the small comfort of relieving pressure of his feet and back at once. The air was silent and still despite the obvious chill of frigid air circulating in the vented lab; it seemed so silent that Kabuto was almost certain he could hear the clock ticking on the opposite wall. This immediately redirected his gaze.

"A quarter to three," Kabuto mumbled, then narrowed his gaze with a blink as the stinging behind his eyelids finally started to sink in. "...In the morning."

It was far more late than he had anticipated, and if it wasn't for the strain that his body felt all over his skin at once from his lack of sleep, Kabuto would have doubted the clock. A certain serpent had a habit of turning forward clocks when his right-hand man wasn't looking, and it wouldn't have been a surprise had it actually been just past midnight instead. It was some way of Orochimaru attempting to make him rest for a change, Kabuto thought, and he knew the elder meant it in good-will. But there was never time to spare in the laboratory.

Each experiment was timed, precisely to the second, and many time-controlled variables and countless vials and test tubes were always in rotation. It was a busy schedule to keep, and Kabuto had to manage it on his own. This lab in particular was his own, and belong to no one else, his master had assured him of this. Even the Sannin himself rarely, if ever, tread in this certain space. It was a little freedom Kabuto was allowed to enjoy completely without risk, as long as his research proved useful to himself and Orochimaru alike. So the time was never gone to waste within these heavy doors and cool walls when Kabuto stepped inside.

While one side of his mind urged him to continue in filing this data from an earlier experiment, the opposition called out for him to sleep. Forty-eight hours without sleep could produce some serious consequences in the human body, Kabuto knew. But he was entirely reluctant, he well knew he wasn't like anybody else; Kabuto was smarter, much more intelligent in terms of medicine, and nothing short of a spectacular healer. If nothing else, Kabuto allowed his mind to wander, he was almost invincible.

Bones cracked within his fingers, his entire body stretching for a second with another soft sigh. He would choose the latter and perhaps take a few hours' rest this morning, and still have time to spare. Orochimaru was required to take his medicine at nine in the morning, which meant if Kabuto could snag a solid five hours of sleep now, he could be up promptly at eight, shower and ready by eight-thirty, and administer Orochimaru's medicine at nine. It was settled, Kabuto thought to himself as he replayed the schedule in his mind, a small nod of his head indicating to himself that it was indeed a good plan.

The laborious task of straightening up his work station was ahead of him, though, and the medic immediately returned to his feet in the hopes he'd be finished in less than fifteen minutes and reward himself with the thought of another experiment's success and a nice night of sleep. A thin hand reached up to adjust his round frames on the bridge of his nose that always began to slide down every so often when he hunched over the counter. Moments later, he was working swiftly, effeciently, the only sound in the cold room the miniscule tickign of the clock and the dulled sound of glass clinking between his fingers. It was a system all his own, a visual organization by color and letter, among the test tubes and vials. Each one only a sample, and he kept strict records of each glass container, each marked with a label as he arranged them methodically onto the wire racks against the wall. It was so precise that without Kabuto's own notes on the contents and personal knowledge of the labels, even the most seasoned scientist would not be able to unravel the secrets within the lab. It was something Kabuto allowed himself to develop, to prevent leaks and protect Lord Orochimaru first and foremost.

The clink of glass continued, the pace usual and normal, but it must've been the hidden exhaustion that made Kabuto falter for a moment. A glass vial for his metal syringes was slowly rolling itself off the edge of the table to his right, but it wasn't an issue in the least. In a split second, like the well-trained shinobi he was, the silver-haired firmly caugh the vial between fingers, grip light as he allowed himself a victorious smirk. But his victory was short-lived, his movements only seconds earlier prompting yet another vial to threaten to fall and shatter. His dark eyes went wide as he moved back to grab the other, time seemingly stopping as his fingers closed around the vial, but then quickly snapping back to reality as he felt a tiny prick on the underside of his wrist.

He moved to right everything and the first thing to fall from his lips was a hushed expletive as he held up his wrist, almost glaring daggers at the uncapped syringe laying on the lab table. The strewn vials now back in place when they belonged, the thin fingers of his other hand rose to slide along the almost invisible pinprick on his skin as he held up his wrist at eye-level. With a squint, Kabuto tried to quell the rising panic in his throat as he stared at the almost unnoticeable drop of blood that appeared at the site. It was a mistake, he knew, something that he hoped to any god that wouldn't have a consequence. Swiftly, as his heart rate picked up in spite of himself, Kabuto snatched the uncapped syringe from the table, reading the label carefully.

"It's Orochimaru-sama's...," he mumbled to himself, breath nearly catching in his throat as he closed his eyes for a moment, placing the syringe back down.

It was no fault but his own. Not only had he tainted a perfect sample of the Sannin's blood and chakra, but now it had entered his own bloodstream. The latter prospect was nothing of immediate worry for the medic, and he focused on what this meant for his research. He needed a new sample now for this project, and it was difficult enough at it were to gain approval. His brows furrowed into an angry line, swearing once more softly under his breath as he straightened up and capped the syringe how it should have been from the beginning.

But it was no use getting upset over now; he could always derive from other samples and experiments to make up for the bias. That would take time, but... so be it. He wouldn't let his carelessness go under his own radar this time, it was a demeaning trait that caused any human to worry about life. Kabuto would not be caught making a similar fumble again, he promised himself, and rubbed absentmindedly at the stinging spot on the bottom of his wrist. He would finish this project in the morning and look into the sample when he wasn't so overly irate and exhausted all at once, and if it needed to be re-done, he would simply have no choice.


End file.
